CHAPTER XXVI.
WE WILL RETURN TO OUR SECLUSION.
"I am mad," said Bertram to himself. "Mad, as ever was the proverbialMarch hare. That girl who passed us in the darkness was Josephine Hart.Yes, that girl was Nina, and I must, I will, see her again."
His heart was beating tumultuously; he felt the great passion of hislove tingling through all his veins. Money was nothing to him in thishour, debts were forgotten, disgrace and dishonor were nowhere. Nina andlove were all in all. He _would_ see her, he would kiss her, hewould hold her in his arms, he would, he must. The very elements helpedhim as he ran back to the place where he knew she had paused to watchhim. Why had she come back! She knew her power only too well. Why hadshe come to exercise it? It was mad of her, wicked of her, it meant hisruin, and yet he was glad, yet he rejoiced.
The moments seemed endless until he could reach her. Beatrice was asabsolutely forgotten by him at this moment as if she had never existed.
At last he gained the spot where Josephine had brushed past him in thedarkness. He knew it, he knew the sudden curve of the road, the bend inthe path where it began to dip downwards. He stood still, and strainedhis eyes to look through the darkness. No one was there. Beatrice hadseen the slender figure leaning against the hedge, but all now wasemptiness and solitude. Not a soul was in sight. On this lonely road nota being but himself breathed.
He stood motionless, he listened hard. Once even he called aloud:
"I am here, Nina! Here, Nina! waiting for you here!"
But no one responded. He was alone; the vision, the delicious,heart-stirring vision, had vanished.
Captain Bertram wandered about, restless and miserable, for an hour ortwo. Then he went home and retired straight to his room.
That night he did not attempt to keep the secret chamber of his heart inwhich Josephine dwelt, locked and barred. No, he opened the doors wide,and bade her come out, and talked to her. Passionate and wild and lovingwords he used, and Beatrice was nothing to him. He did not go to bedthat night. In the morning his face showed symptoms of the vigil he hadpassed through. His mother noticed the haggard lines round his eyes, andshe gave vent to a sigh--scarcely audible, it is true, and quicklysmothered.
Mrs. Bertram was happy, but still she lived on thorns. She felt that thefairy palace she had built over that sepulchre of the past might crumbleat any moment. The lines of care on Bertram's brow gave her a sensationof fear. Was anything the matter? Was the courage of the bride-electfailing? At the eleventh hour could anything possibly injure thearrangements so nearly completed?
Catherine and Mabel were in good spirits. Their bride's-maids' dresseshad arrived from town the previous night. They were of gauzy white oversilk slips; the girls had never possessed such luxurious costumesbefore.
"You'd like to see us in them, wouldn't you, Loftie?" said Mabel."Catherine looks splendid in hers, and those big hats with Margueritesare so becoming. Shall we put our dresses on, Loftie, for you to seebefore you run away to Beatrice? Shall we?"
Loftus raised his dark eyes, and looked full at his young sister. Therewere heavy shadows round his eyes; their depths looked gloomy andtroubled.
"What did you say?" he asked, in a morose voice.
"What did I say? Well, really, Loftie, you are too bad. I do think youare the most selfish person I know. At one time I thought Bee wasimproving you, but you are worse than ever this morning. You never,never, take a bit of interest in things that don't immediately concernyourself. I thought our bride's-maids' dresses would have beensufficiently important to rouse a passing interest even in--now, what'sthe matter, Catherine? I _will_ speak out."
"Forgive me, Mab, I have a headache and feel stupid," interruptedLoftus, rising to his feet. "I'm going out for a stroll; the air will dome good."
He went up to the end of the table where his mother sat, kissed heralmost tenderly, and left the room.
Catherine began to reprove Mabel.
"It is you who are selfish," she said. "You know Loftie must have agreat deal on his mind just now."
"Oh, well, I don't care. Every little pleasure is somehow or otherdashed to the ground. _I was_ pleased when I thought Bee was to bemy sister, and she was so sweet about the dresses, choosing just whatwe'd look best in. Loftus was nice, too, until this morning. Now I don'tfeel as if I cared about anything."
Mabel never reflected on the possibility of her own words causingannoyance. She ate her breakfast without observing that both her motherand Catherine looked depressed. Presently, like the thoughtless childshe was, she looked up with laughing eyes:
"Won't the Bells look funny in those grand robes. Do you know, Kate, Iheard such a ridiculous thing yesterday. It was Mrs. Gorman Stanley whotold me. She said Matty Bell was over head and ears in love with Loftie,and that Mrs. Bell had quite made up her mind that Loftie was to marryMattie. She told such a funny story of the way Mrs. Butler broke thenews of Beatrice's engagement to the Bells. Now, what's up? Have I saidanything wrong again?"
"You have, Mabel," said her mother. "You have been guilty of repeatingcommon and vulgar gossip. You ought never to have listened to it. I hadhoped that a daughter of mine, a Bertram, too, would have inspired toomuch respect to have any such rubbish spoken of in her presence."
"Oh, really, mother, I don't think people much care whether we areBertrams or not."
"Hush, my dear, that is sufficient. I always feared the effect of thelow society of this place on you both, and in especial on you, Mabel. Myfears have been justified by the results. As soon as Loftus's wedding isover we will return to our seclusion, my dears."